‘SOS’ by Joe Tessitore The Society February 23, 2018 Deconstructing Communism, Poetry 5 Comments gone the time for finding fault for finger-pointing and assault frantic now the SOS our ship of state is in distress taking water, sinking fast this call for help may be its’ last mastered by a crew of fools as kids are slaughtered in our schools shamelessly the talking heads politicize our precious dead stopping not to catch a breath vultures in the face of death the FBI in disarray sickening the things they say: “protocols that were ignored” lives that cannot be restored taking water, sinking fast this call for help may be our last Joe Tessitore is a retired New York City resident and poet. NOTE: The Society considers this page, where your poetry resides, to be your residence as well, where you may invite family, friends, and others to visit. Feel free to treat this page as your home and remove anyone here who disrespects you. Simply send an email to firstname.lastname@example.org. Put “Remove Comment” in the subject line and list which comments you would like removed. The Society does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or comments and reserves the right to remove any comments to maintain the decorum of this website and the integrity of the Society. Please see our Comments Policy here. Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) 5 Responses Amy Foreman February 23, 2018 Powerful, Mr. Tessitore. Unbelievably sad, the line: “lives that cannot be restored.” I love your metaphor here, Joe, and the catalectic trochaic tetrameter you chose for this poem makes it somewhat hymn-like–reminding me of the great hymn of the same meter, “Jesus, Lover of My Soul,” which also speaks the same sea/ship metaphor, and which is a cry for help in its own right: Jesus, lover of my soul, Let me to Thy bosom fly, While the nearer waters roll, While the tempest still is high: Hide me, O my Savior, hide, Till the storm of life is past; Safe into the haven guide; O receive my soul at last. Reply Joe Tessitore February 23, 2018 Very beautiful comment – thank you so much! Reply Dave Whippman February 27, 2018 Interesting blend of classical-type rhyme and metre with bang-up-to-date subject matter. Reply David Paul Behrens February 28, 2018 Could not agree more. Nice poem. Reply Wendy Bourke March 21, 2018 This is very impactful and – though I am an observer from another land – strikes me as very wise and brave. It is well constructed, powerfully rendered and, to my mind: an important piece. Reply Leave a Reply Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.